by W Winters
“Yes. Jase said he bought me a deck online but until they arrive I thought I would draw them myself.”
I consider her for a moment. Of everything she could ask for, of everything she could be doing at this moment, this is what she chose. “Why?”
“I like to think about things and it helps me.” She nervously picks at the edge of her dirty shirt where a thread has come undone. “It’s been lonely, and I haven’t been able to think of anything new. It was just something…” her voice trails off and she takes in a shuddering breath. Weeks of doing absolutely nothing but living with your demons would haunt and break the strongest of minds. But she’s survived.
“Do your clothes not fit?”
“They do, I just get dirty doing this. So, I thought…” she pauses to take in a short breath and then another. “I just wanted to take care of this, and then I’d planned to change and try to clean myself up.”
Nodding, I hand the paper back to her asking, “What does it mean?”
She’s hesitant to reach out and take it, but when she does, her fingers trace the edges of the knives. “The three of swords represents rejection, loneliness, heartbreak…” Her words aren’t saddened by the information, merely matter-of-fact.
I wonder if she’s lying. If the one card that she’s drawn I happened to pick up, would really mean those things or if she’s toying with me. She could be trying to weaken my resolve by gaining sympathy. It will never happen.
“But yours was reversed,” she says, and it cuts through my thoughts of her intention.
“And what does that mean?” I ask her, expecting her to spit back that I’m the one causing it all. For her to blame all of this on me. And in so many ways it is my fault, but she’s to blame as well and she doesn’t even know it.
“Forgiveness,” she whispers the word and then slowly inches closer to pick up each of the fallen papers, dozens of them, gathering them together and avoiding me at all costs.
The word resonates for a moment, lingering in the space between us and striking something deep inside of me.
My blood pressure rises as my eyes search her face for an indication as to what she’s getting at. But she doesn’t look at me and her body seems to cower more with each passing second.
The moment passes, and she neatly arranges the stack in front of her and still doesn’t look up at me.
Stubborn girl. The familiar tic in my jaw begins to contract as I wait another moment. And then another before she looks up at me through her thick lashes. Instead of seeing disinterest, resentment, or whatever I was expecting, all I see is the unspoken plea for me to let her have this small bit of happiness.
But nothing in this life is free. And she should know better than that.
“When I come in here, I want you to kneel for me.”
She flinches as she realizes what I’ve said and as her head lowers, the dip in her collarbone seems to deepen to a level that sickens me.
She’s resistant to obeying, but she needs to understand. There is an expectation both of us need to meet. And what’s been done can’t be taken back. That’s not an option. “I admire your strength. I do.” I talk with her eyes on my back as I stalk to the metal chair at the far wall. I debate on leaving it there and giving her space. But that intention is quickly forgotten.
Picking up the chair, I take it back to where she’s still seated, shaking her head as her shoulders hunch in.
“You keep saying I’m strong and I have to admit I don’t get your humor.” I’m taken aback by the severity of her tone and the venom that veils each syllable as she speaks. She offers me a smile that wavers and then adds, “Did you let him give it all to me so you could simply take it away?” Maybe the small taste of what used to be and what she could so easily have is what she needed to remember her defiance and ignite the spark between us again.
I’d love for her to fight me, but I’ll only allow it after she submits.
“I’ll do as I see fit,” I answer simply, and she refuses to look back at me, her fingers tracing each of the papers. “All you have to do is obey me and I’ll give you everything you need.”
“I’d rather die.” Her hazel eyes simmer with indignation as she waits for my answer. “You can have it back.”
I take my time, sitting on the chair in front of her. Towering over her small frame, I lean forward and speak calmly. “My songbird, it’s one thing to have the balls to say that. I respect it. But it’s another to go through with it. You’ve already obeyed twice. And I didn’t ask much, did I?”
She huffs in a tone that’s both weak and strong. A manner that reflects her tortured state. So close to having what she wants and needs, and yet so close to losing everything.
“It was a cruel joke, wasn’t it?” Her eyes narrow as she gazes at the door like it beckons her.
“I don’t joke, Aria. Your life belongs to me. Everything you will ever get for the rest of your existence will come from me.” My words come out harsh and irritated. I’m sick and fucking tired of her denying both of us. “Get. On. Your. Knees.”
“Fuck you,” she spits out, and instantly my fingers nearly wrap around her throat as the rough pad of my thumb rests against her lips. I can feel the rush of her blood in her neck as I grip her tightly, her gasp filling the air along with the sound of the chair scraping from the rapid movement forward.
She stiffens with my touch but she doesn’t protest, staring back at me with that burning expression as I tighten my grasp. Her breath comes out with a shudder, but she stares back at me expectantly, waiting for what I’ll do next.
My heart hammers and my dick stiffens with each passing second that she holds my heated gaze. I see the moment she realizes that her hands are on my waist. Pulling herself toward me, not pushing me away.
Her eyes spark and I nearly crash my lips against hers, urging for more. Instead, I leave her there, letting a low hum of approval fall from my lips so she knows I know exactly what she’s thinking.
A fire ignites between us as she grips me tighter, so tight the sound of her nails scratching against my pants is all I can hear.
“You think you shouldn’t do it, simply because you’ve been taught it’s wrong. But is that what you really want?”
“I don’t want you,” she says breathily, not even attempting to hide her desire.
“I won’t let you ride my cock until you tell me how badly you want to cum on it.” I hold her fiery gaze as I ask, “Do you understand me?”
Her body sways slightly as she holds back a strangled groan of lust.
“Humor me, Aria. I already know you’re strong.”
“You make me weak.” Her voice breaks and the tension from the other day returns in full force. She steadies her trembling lip between her teeth.
“Is that what you’re afraid of? Being weak?”
She nods her head slightly, ever so slightly. And I can see the last bit of her walls crumble for me. Crashing down to the ground in small, insignificant piles of rubble.
“I don’t want you weak.” I lean forward, whispering against her lips, “I want you mine.”
Her eyes close and her body bends forward; she rests nearly her entire weight on me. “I will never submit to you,” she says, and her words are a weak confession. As if she hates their existence.
She’s close. So close. I need to offer her something.
Hope. The offer of hope is something a desperate person can never afford to pass up.
“I made a deal I shouldn’t have. But I need to go through with it for as long as I have to. And it has to appear that I’ve done what would be expected. You’re going to help me and then I’ll give you whatever you want.”
“What do you need me to— “
“Obey me,” I say, cutting her off. “Kneel when I enter and do as I wish.” My hands tingle with the sensation of feeling her so close to caving. They clench and unclench at my side.
Time passes in slow ticks as she pulls herself away from me. She can try to pretend she has
somewhere else to go. But I’m her only way out of this. And eventually, she’ll beg me for something. She. Will. Beg.
“Anything?” she asks, and she already knows the answer. “Like my freedom?”
“Almost anything.” I don’t lie to her.
“There’s nothing else--” she starts, but I cut her off. “There’s always something else.” My words are sharp at first but I correct myself.
“There’s always something else,” I repeat and then add as I stand up to leave, “It’s something you so desperately need, but you don’t even see it.”
Chapter 16
Aria
* * *
Part of what keeps me from giving in to Carter and the feelings that have been taking over my every waking moment is obvious.
The fear of the past returning. The truth in the terrors that devour my nights.
And the nightmares I remember of a past monster erase everything I’ve felt for Carter. There is nothing that will change that.
Sometimes it’s the feeling of Stephan’s hands on me that wake me up screaming. It’s been so long since I’ve felt it. Or at least since I’ve been aware of it.
It used to be every single night. I couldn’t sleep at all without seeing his face. Without feeling him rip me away from my mother as I begged her to stay with me. She was already gone though. Even as a child I knew she was dead.
He’d killed her.
The sleeping pills the doctor gave me at my father’s request worked for a little while. Then I stopped and even though everyone else would say I was screaming, I didn’t remember. I couldn’t remember a single dream. Nothing but darkness as I slept.
It’s come back to me though in the last few months. Even the pills can’t dull the nightmares anymore. They don’t stop them from lingering once my eyes have opened.
It’s like I’ve gone back fourteen years, and my nights and days are both haunted by the memories.
* * *
“Please, Stephan,” I begged him. I looked up into the eyes of the man dragging me away from her. My nails scratched and bent on the wooden floors as I kicked him, falling hard to the ground.
And he snarled, “You little bitch.”
* * *
My heart races and the tears stream down my face. My fingers dig into the mattress and the sweat turns to ice along my skin. I don’t know if I’m asleep or awake, but I know what’s coming. I can’t move; I can’t breathe.
I can see myself rocking, but I’m still. I’m aware of that. It’s a different time, in a different place.
I’m safe, I whisper and try to will the images away. I’m safe.
But when I open my eyes and try hard to keep from crying any more tears, I remember where I am.
It’s been years since the nightmares have tortured me like this. It makes sense that they’d come back now. But without a place to hide, not in my sleep and not while I’m awake, I don’t know how much longer I can go on.
I can’t live like this.
I can’t and I won’t.
I want to call out for Carter of all things. He could hold me and take it away.
The bed beneath me groans as I roll over, and for the first time since I’ve been here, my back is to the door. I’m conscious of it. As conscious of it as I am the feeling of Carter’s hand on my jaw. The strength, the power, the heat, and fire that lick their way up my body when he holds me like that.
Like I’m his.
I remember his words, “I made a deal I shouldn’t have. But I need to go through with it.” How he said I have to help him. I’ve spent weeks in this cell with no hope, until now. My imagination is wild with thoughts of what could come. But each and every one of them leads back to one scene. One that makes my thighs clench tighter.
Slowly, I lift my fingers to where his were and close my eyes as the tips of my fingers tickle my skin. The memory calms me and yet, it makes my heart beat faster.
It’s his hands on me that I think of as I try to drift back to sleep. And I almost do.
But the realization of how much power he has over me with something so simple as a touch meant to control me, easing my pain steals any chance I have of falling back to sleep.
Chapter 17
Carter
* * *
Stephan. Alexander Stephan.
It’s his name screamed. He’s who terrorizes her in her sleep. I know it is.
I’ve listened to it over and over again, each time the anger intensifying.
Last night she screamed his name.
All these nights I thought it was me causing the terrors. I thought she hated me and that she truly dreaded what I could do to her.
I’ve never been so fucking wrong in my life.
The door to her cell opens with a small creak, but it cries out loud in my ears as Aria’s bloodshot eyes stare back at me.
“Can’t sleep?” I ask her, leaving the door open and walking with evenly paced and deliberate steps to the side of her bed.
She looks so frail beneath me. Barely eating and not sleeping for more than a few hours for over a week will take its toll on anyone. She doesn’t answer me. Her eyes follow me though.
“I won’t kneel,” she says weakly.
“I didn’t come for that.”
Her brow scrunches and she nearly questions me. She knows she’s disobeying, still fighting a losing battle, but my guard is down. It almost makes me smile.
“I asked for pills to sleep,” she says, and her pleas are desperate. But I had to know more. There would be no pills to take it away when she wouldn’t share it with me. How else would I have found out? It’s her stubbornness that will make her suffer.
“I want to know how you know Alexander Stephan.” Even though my words come out softly, meant to be gentle, she pales in front of me and I can see the chill spread over her body as she backs away from me.
There’s only so far she can run in here and I’m tempted to grab her and force her to answer me, but I already know everything I need.
I was stupid to think I knew everything there was to know about Aria. I didn’t consider anything other than who she was five years ago. I didn’t consider the past that made her into that girl.
I knew her mother was murdered by a now-associate of the Romanos years before our family existed in this reality. At the time, he was the right-hand man to Talvery. Betrayal is thick in this business. Her mother’s murder is what started the feud years ago, but it’s been quiet for over a decade. No one’s made a move since the unsuccessful retaliation on Talvery’s part. Each side was simply maneuvering pieces and has been waiting for the other to strike since then.
My blunt fingernails dig into my palm as I resist touching Aria. Her back is pressed against the wall and she gathers the covers closer to her chest as if she has hope that they could save her.
But there’s nothing that can save you from your past.
When she finally speaks, it’s anger that threatens to come out in her voice. “Don’t give me to him, please.”
Anger sparks through me. This girl has a way of igniting it within me like no one else.
“You belong to me.” The simple words gritted between my clenched teeth make her stiffen, but her eyes show a different response. Hope, maybe.
“Any man who thinks they can lay a hand on you will die at mine. Is that clear?”
Her eyes search mine for sincerity, even as she nods her head. “I told you, you belong to me.”
The shift in her demeanor is slight. The heavier breaths, the gentle relaxation in her shoulders, and the defiance that begs to come out in the gorgeous blend of greens in her stare.
“Who is he to you?” I ask her again and watch as the cords in her slender neck tighten when she swallows.
“He killed my mother.” She doesn’t show much emotion; she tries to hide it, to appear devoid of it. But sadness and fear emanate from her voice.
I consider what to ask her next, but I don’t want her to know what I know. If she doesn’t already,
she wouldn’t believe me.
“Tell me more,” I decide to command her, rather than asking for specifics.
She brushes the hair from her face and as she does, the blanket falls from her chest. It’s only then I notice she’s finally changed clothes. The thin, pale blush cotton shirt complements her complexion. Her fingers wrap around the cuffs of her sleeves as she pulls her knees to her chest.
“It’s not something I like to talk about,” she says simply, and then rests her cheek on her knees and looks up at me. The air is different between us. The tension of the game we’ve been playing isn’t here and so I scoot closer to her, wondering how she’ll react.
And she does. My little songbird.
She keeps the space between us, shifting to the other side of the bed and straightening her shoulders to keep her eyes on me.
The corners of my lips kick up into a half grin.
“Even now?” I ask her and the defensiveness fades, but she doesn’t answer.
A moment passes, and then another. Finally, she looks toward the open door. It’s the first time she’s done it this morning; usually her gaze flickers to it constantly.
“You screamed his name last night,” I tell her and when she looks back at me, I know she’s not breathing.
“I’d like to know why,” I say to finish my thought.
She swallows visibly and again pulls her knees to her chest. As she does, I inch closer. Only one. Although she stares at my hand, lying flat on the mattress and closer to her, she doesn’t move away.
“I was there when he did it.”
“You saw her die?”
She nods. “I was hiding. I was only playing.” She shakes her head and I inch forward again, beckoning her for more. But nothing comes.
“What aren’t you telling me?” My question comes out as a demand and that’s when the defiance returns and the girl I’m used to seeing returns.
Her dry lips part but after several moments, she never says a word. I stand up, pushing off the thin bed and making her sway with the dip in the mattress.
